Raven's Strike (Raven #2)(110)

"This is my family," she'd said.

She hadn't meant it. She couldn't have meant it. Tier would have, but then Phoran had listened to Rinnie's stories and realized Tier's behavior with the Passerines was nothing new. He adopted any stray creature that wandered past him, be they giant black dogs or fumbling, dissolute emperors.

Phoran knew she hadn't meant it, but it was precious to him just the same. Ever since his uncle died, Phoran had known that he was alone. Oh, there was Avar, but Avar didn't make Phoran feel safe and... and loved. "My family," she'd said, as if Phoran were one of her own children.

He heard someone come out of the library and sighed to himself, though he'd known Toarsen and Kissel wouldn't leave him alone for long. A furry black head dropped onto Phoran's boot, then Gura sighed, too.

"Phoran," said Lehr, quietly from behind him.

He turned to look at the dark young man - if not the last person he expected to see, he was close to it.

"Get tired of the noise?" Phoran asked.

Lehr smiled, but didn't admit it aloud. "Hinnum thinks if Mother can round up a Lark, a circle of all six Orders might be able to call upon the Elder gods. They were supposed to work that way, to keep the power of the Elder gods from growing too great. But once the surviving wizards realized there was a hole in the veil, it didn't seem necessary, so they never developed a ceremony that worked. Hinnum thinks the Weaver's power and the six Orders might be able to destroy the Shadowed."

Phoran looked back out at the sunset. "I heard some of that. Sounds like she, Hennea, and Hinnum are going to take a good try at fixing both Tier and those stolen Orders tomorrow. They need the real names of the Elder gods, or some way to get the rest of us out of their hair, so they're planning on sending us out to find the Owl's Temple because the names are in the temple somewhere."

"Etched into the dais in reverse," said Lehr. "She says we can get a rubbing with some char and someone's shirt." Then he said diffidently. "I can do it myself. There's no need for anyone else to..."

His voice trailed off, and Phoran realized some of his irritation at having his private moment interrupted had made itself felt. Lehr thought it was because he resented Seraph's assigning him tasks without consulting - which was something, thought Phoran, he really ought to be a little upset about since he was the Emperor and she was a farmer's wife. But she had called him family: as far as he was concerned, Seraph could command him all she wanted to.

"Have you ever watched three wizards work together?" asked Phoran.

Lehr hesitated, and said cautiously, "No."

"That's because they can't. I don't want to be around when that old wizard, your mother, and Hennea start arguing." It was Jes who didn't like being touched, Phoran remembered, so he slapped Lehr on the back reassuringly.

Lehr gave him a slow smile.

"Seriously, Lehr, I don't think any of us should be running around alone in this city. It's not like the woods, where you and your brother know the kinds of things you'll face. I know we haven't run into anything threatening yet, but there's something about this city that gives me the creeps."

"All right," Lehr agreed. "Actually, I came out here because I thought you might answer a question for me. I thought I'd ask Toarsen, but since I have you alone..."

"Ask."

"On the way to the library today, Rufort and Ielian were talking about being a Passerine. Ielian said something that bothered Rufort, but I don't know exactly what it was or why it bothered him."

"Tell me," Phoran invited again.

"Rufort said that he liked being one of your guardsmen, that it was much better than being a Passerine had been. Then Ielian said he liked it, too. But being a Passerine had been better than being a clerk for his uncle. It bothered Rufort, but he didn't let Ielian see his reaction."

Phoran knew who Ielian's uncle was, but then so should Rufort. Like Phoran, he didn't see anything wrong with what Lehr had said. "Did he say why he liked being a Passerine better?"

"He said it paid better."

"I thought we'd found all of those," said Phoran, dismayed.

"All of what?"

"The only Passerines who were given coins by the Path were paid for killing people - or frightening them. Most of them were the older Passerines: Kissel and Toarsen knew who they were. Ielian is younger, from this year's crop. We didn't think that any of the youngest group were doing that sort of work."

Kissel and Toarsen had both gone out to frighten people. "Bruised a few knuckles" was what Kissel had called it. But killing - particularly the kind of killing that the Path had been behind - was a different category.

He couldn't trust Ielian anymore.

"It's all right, Lehr," he said. "Thank you for telling me. I'll let Toarsen and Kissel know."

"I like him," said Lehr. "Not many people stand up to Mother."

"I like him, too," said Phoran. "I'll talk to him about it before I decide what to do. Thank you."

Night had fallen while they talked. Phoran turned to go back into the library, and the Memory was there.

"Ah," he told it. "I hadn't realized how late it was getting."

Lehr watched the Memory, but he hadn't jumped or shrieked or anything else. Phoran remembered the first half dozen times the Memory had come to him and wished he'd been half so calm. Gura whined, but stood his ground.